en route to mirandola

I left early in the morning for a ferry ride from Hong Kong harbour to the Chinese mainland. The coast of Hong Kong is littered with container ship equipment and ships. One regular size ship seemed to fit 27 containers while a colosal ship may fill 600 containers. Each carry cargo of chinese made products to all over the world.

In the March edition of the economist it talks about China as the world-wide buyer of energy from coal to oil from all over the world. China doesn’t discriminate against any country that it buys from whether they are human rights abusers.

As the ferry docks to the city of zhong san I’m greeted by immigration officers in their green uniforms that look more like the green communist army straight from a military movie. They look at my declaration of health, little do they know I have a nasty cough and feel feverish but they have little equipment that detects sars… their equipment does little to detect anything … just a fancy metal bar with flashing red lights.

I travel on a bus to an city named Hoiping. It is my dad’s birthplace. The sidewalks have cracks and most of the concrete slabs are not leveled and some have sunk into the sand. The buildings are old and all have bars over the windows to prevent thiefs from entering. The scouters and bikes and small cars move without discretion of the lines on the street, infact there are no dividing lines on the street.

I’m not usto the city or the lack of control. I’m not usto to markets where pieces of severed pig legs are placed on the wet floor. I’m not usto the live fish being hacked into pieces while moving as the seller prepares it for the buyer. I’m not usto the consistent noise of a clanging glass as a man screams indiscrminately into the air. This city is foreign to me and the customs strange. However, I’m thankful for the peace and the amount of sleep that I experienced in this city away from the bustle and efficiency of Hong Kong. It’s a haven from a week of running around.